


Fractured Colours

by DirtyHand



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Reunion Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyHand/pseuds/DirtyHand
Summary: Sometimes moments are remembered in a hue.





	1. Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Mc76 Week Day1: Then & Now  
> All 3 chapters are one fill for the same prompt, to be read together.

_They dance_

 

⧫

 

He has no warning as a fist grabs him by his hair.  He reaches for his training instinctively, elbowing back as he grounds his gravity down. His blow is blocked with ease, and he lets out a cry of pain as his world spins on its axis, abruptly cut off when his left cheek collides with a wall, his hat rolling off onto the ground. He sees stars and his ears ring. Only two people he knows have that kind of strength, and only one uses it on him like that. He doesn’t reach for his comm.

 

“What the f-” he protests, and the hand yanks him back and slams his head on the wall again. Ouch.

 

“Are you just a natural little shit, or you have a problem you need to spit out, agent McCree?” Jack’s tone is not the gentle voice of the lover he knows; not even the commanding raucous that demands obedience; but something dark, dangerous, and Jesse freezes as the sudden pang of fear surges through him.  

 

“Jack-” Slam. _Ouch._

 

“Don’t you dare pull that attitude on me again kid. Never challenge my authority in _my_ briefings. Ever. Do I make myself clear?” Jesse’s lips curl into a snarl, refusing to respond to the chide. He struggles for his ego. Reyes taught him to be obedient, not pliable.

 

The hand tightens. Possessive, threatening. Fangs closing in. “I said, do I make myself clear.”

 

Jack isn’t playing. He can feel the hard eyes penetrating him; can hear the deep inhale and exhale and imagine the rise and fall of Jack’s chest. The anchoring calm replaced by a reticent tempest. The hand still pins him in place, tenacious in its hold. The strike commander radiates power; regal leader and silent threat embodied in one. Jesse is but a sly fox, wittily insurgent with cocky cleverness, pushing his limits; in these moments his charms fail him, his masks falter, and he has no option but to kneel before his king. Jack remains quiet, demanding submission without speaking.  A thumb presses on his temple.

 

“Fine, won’t do it again.” He grunts, squirming under Jack’s hold.

 

The hand slides down to clasp around the back of his neck, pressing his face against the wall.  Still insistent. “And?”

 

He knows too well where this will go. Like a script, every time. He has drawn out the beast, and there’s only one thing it wants.

 

“...’m sorry… _Sir_.” Jesse concedes.

 

A beat passes, and tension hangs in the air, suspended. Jesse is hyper-aware of the firm hand still clutching his neck. Predatory. He can feel the familiar roughness of the palm, can feel his pulse drumming against the sweaty skin. He bites down the urge to turn back or steal a glance, lest he meets Jack’s eyes. He just lets his body fall lax, communicating his surrender.

 

The lion is pleased. It lets out a small huff, and its hold weakens. A gentler pressure, but assertive nonetheless. The weight behind him shifts, and he braces himself.

 

“You know your place, McCree, or I will put you in it myself.” Jack is suddenly so close when he speaks, breathing hot air onto Jesse’s ear. The whisper sends a shiver down his spine, and he lets out a shuddering sigh before be can stop himself. _Shit._ Jack’s chuckle is mocking, a deep, menacing rumble from the lungs, and he shivers as a thumb kneads him at the base of his neck, rubbing circles around his pulse.  He hates how Jack already knows. How, despite all his training, Jack still reads him like an open book. Probably planned this from the start. “Oh I forgot, you would actually like that, won’t you.” It’s not a question, so Jesse doesn’t answer.

 

Jack presses against him, and they fit together like a jigsaw. A whimper escapes his lips as the hulking weight cages him completely, the intense warmth permeating through the layers.  Jack’s scent is suddenly there, all around him like tendrils wrapping around his sanity. He can feel the impressive bulge resting between his ass cheeks, still soft.  He bites his lip, and tries to squirm away. Jack hums, and the sound vibrates through their bodies.

 

“You’re not going anywhere, Jesse.” There is a shift in his tone - sultry, husky, _ravenous_.

 

The hand lets go of his neck and trails down his body, prowling under the hem of his shirt. Dexterous fingers draws in mindless patterns, lingering strokes and deft dances, rough calluses on smooth skin; the other paw grips at his hips, guiding him back against him. He shudders. Jack has him, right where he wants, like he always does. He has nowhere to hide, no weapon to wield. No escape. Jack’s love is like fire, it can warm and it can burn. “...Sir,” he tries.

 

“Quiet,” Jack’s other hand darts up to cover Jesse’s mouth, muffling the careless noise. “Never know when to keep your mouth shut, do you...” Jack’s voice is hushed, the sandy gravel of his voice tingling his insides, and a wave of heat course through his veins. Jesse lets out a huff through his nose, and flicks his tongue against the sweaty palm.  Jack smiles, amused, and a thumb traces the contour of the bottom lip, moist with saliva; teasing, before two fingers slip into a willing mouth, toying lewdly with the hot tongue.

 

One hand at his mouth, one hand teasing at the rim of his pants; there is nothing imprisoning him now except Jack’s weight, the slow grind and languid pistoning of Jack’s hips rocking his body, and the low heat burning in his abdomen. He can slip away if he tries, can think of a handful ways to catch the man off-guard and flee for his pride; but he feels as trapped as a prisoner, blindfolded and cuffed to a chair as he greedily sucks on the fingers debauching his mouth. Jack’s breathing is no longer even and calm, and Jesse moans, breathy and meek, and rocks backwards against the growing hardness.

 

So eager to please.

 

The touch and the warmth all leave abruptly, cool air rushing over him and he shivers, disoriented at the sudden emptiness. A whine is halfway out when Jack grips his shoulders and flings him around, using the momentum to shove him back against the wall. Eyes half lidded, the pale skin of Jack’s neck and the ridges of his throat fills his vision, and Jesse leans forward, tilting his chin up to chase for a kiss. Yet a hand denies him, clasping around his jaw and holds his face still, pushing him back, and he finally looks up at his lover.

 

Jack’s eyes are fond but cruel. Jesse shies away, averting his gaze, but there is a wordless command in the way the hand squeezes, so he glances back again, unwilling but obedient.  He tries to put bite and arrogance in his glare, a complaint, a protest. The last of his defiance. The stand of his ego. Th-

 

_God, Jack’s eyes are so beautiful._

 

The ocean blue embraces him, the waves rock his world and surrounds him and drags him down in a whirlpool, and Jesse drowns. He lets Jack win. Jack will win for them both, like he always does.

 

“Jack…” He closes his eyes and the strength leaves his body as he moans, a single plea on his lips.

 

And _now_ Jack kisses him. Their bodies clash together as their mouths collide, Jack’s tongue diving in and swirling around his, aggressive and hungry.  Jesse feels dizzy as he tries to kiss back, to lure Jack deeper, to gain leverage, but Jack bites his lip as a warning and Jesse whimpers as he gives into Jack’s assault, pliant and soft as Jack breaks down the walls and claims his trophy, relishing Jesse’s submission like a delicious taste, chasing it, savouring it, craving it.

 

Like a drug.

 

They are gasping for breath when they part, foreheads pressing together. Jesse wraps his arms around Jack, trapping him. When he looks up, there’s a flame in Jack’s eyes, burning fiery bright like the sun, and the warmth of that affection scorches him in the best way.  Jack’s hand releases his jaw, grazing his left cheek before cupping it gently, lovingly, and Jesse clings on to the intimacy like a lifeline.

 

“There. _There you are._ My good boy...”

 

_He will never say no to him._

 

A gentle press on his shoulder, and he sinks down to his knees, slowly, sensually. Jack is hard as a rock, tenting his blue combat pants. He glances up, hands coming up to the belt buckle.  A nod, a clink, the erotic sound of a zipper coming down to reveal the white boxer briefs underneath. The sweet musk is overwhelming, saturating the air he breathes. He leans in and inhales. Half of the front is already translucent, soaked by the obscene amount of precum Jack leaks, and a wave of heat rushes to his face. Jack wants him. Yearns for him. He mouths the spot like an inviting treat, taking the head in and chasing the salty taste. He trails the outline of the shaft, the rough fabric bitter and scratchy as Jesse drenches it further.  There’s something aggressively erotic about Jack’s cock pulsating against his tongue through the thin layer of cloth; him tasting it but also not tasting it; and Jesse moans, loud and lewd as he works, worshipping Jack through the confines of his underwear.

 

But apparently that’s not what Jack wants, because he cranes Jesse’s neck and pushes him back, while the other hand slips a thumb beneath the waistband and pulls. Jesse’s mouth waters again at the sight before him, Jack’s huge, girthy cock throbbing eagerly, the head a delicious red against pale skin.  A bead of precum gathers at the slit before dipping down, a thin string of transparent temptation.  

 

He opens his mouth, catching the clear liquid with a flick of his tongue. Salty and sweet, and he can’t get enough. He tilts his head up, licking up and down the shaft teasingly, spurred on by the bashfulness of his display.  Jack grabs a fistful of his hair, rubbing his cock all over Jesse’s face before tilting his head up.  “Just look at you now.” On his knees, eyes glazed, mouth open.  The tip of Jack’s cock rests on his lower lip, teasing, and he flicks his tongue against the tip, never breaking eye contact.  Jack growls, and the hard cock pushes into his mouth with a satisfying shove, the flesh hot and sweet on his tongue. “That what you want, Jesse? Like the taste of my cock?” Jack’s voice curls around him like smoke, and he moans again, the vibration drawing a soft groan from Jack.

 

They start slow, Jesse falling to a rhythm easily, lips stretched around Jack’s girth as he takes him in.  The careful slide of tongue as he goes down. The hard suck as he hovers, the slight twist as he comes back up. Sometimes he pauses, coming off for a deep breath, mouth open and sliding underneath the shaft to the heavy sag before following the same way back.  He is more than skilful by now, with how often Jack trains him. The constant stream of precum and the small grunts and groans Jack makes are his reward, and he swallows every single drop.

 

“Pathetic shit, begging for my dick. Can’t believe I let you fuck me.”

 

The words are oil to his fire. Jack’s hand is still in his hair, merely resting there like a reassurance. His other hand braces on the wall as he hunches over Jesse, cowering over him, trapping him as he looks down, eyes half lidded.  When the grip tightens again Jesse braces himself.  Jack is rough when he takes control.

 

Jack sets his pace with his hand, forces him to speed up, no longer the easy pace of a lazy, languid service.  His head bobs up and down as Jack fucks his face, dirty talk and fond praises spilling from the commander’s lips like mellow wine, and Jesse feels drunk on the words as they crush him and mend him; lifts him and drowns him.  

 

A powerful thrust, and it goes too deep, and Jesse gags. Jack is not apologetic as he pulls back, and Jesse only has a second to recover before Jack pushes again, demanding. The swollen head brushes past his palate, and Jesse relaxes and takes him in, lets it slip into his throat. He gags again, and this time Jack doesn't relent, keeping his cock sheathed in the wonderful heat for a second longer before letting go.  “That’s it boy. Open up. Open up for me.” A short gasp of breath, and Jack is back again, pushing deep with more force as he tugs on Jesse’s hair in time with each thrust.

 

When Jack finally takes a pause, Jesse is trembling, fists gripping Jack’s hips for support, coughing and panting audibly.  The heavy cock rests on his cheek, hot and slick, throbbing and pulsating as it messes up his scruffy chin.  “You love that don’t you.” the voice is strained, and Jesse notices the unsteady rise and fall of Jack’s wide chest with a wave of pride.  The hand cradles his face, caressing softly before dropping to cup his chin.  Jack tilts his head back, gazing down at him, eyes dark with lust.  Jesse’s face is flushed red, lips dripping with slick and drool.  “Love choking on my cock?” and Jesse shudders, eyes fluttering shut, and nods.  He nuzzles into the patch of hair, down and around the girthy base, and into the heavy balls beneath, breathing deep.  Jack’s musk is intoxicating, and he lets out a needy moan as he dives in, burying  himself in Jack’s crotch, losing himself in the heady scent engulfing his senses, distinctively Jack.

 

“You’re disgusting.”  

 

Jesse whimpers and moans again, louder this time. The thick slippery shaft slides across his cheek, the string of precum dragging over his brow. The sheer heat radiating off the flesh amazes him. Without prompting, he slides back up the length and takes Jack inside him again. He gives a tiny squeeze on Jack’s hips as he opens his mouth wider. Inviting.

 

Jack moans. A heavenly sound that stirs the core of Jesse’s soul. With a groan, Jack puts both hands on Jesse’s head, digging fingers into his matted locks and holding Jesse still as he shoves, slamming into him with an ardent need. Jesse eases backwards, back leaning against the wall for support, but Jack shuffles forward with him, and now he has nowhere to back away as Jack fucks his face, rhythm growing frantic and punishing.  The wet noises and weak grunts are muffled, choked, ignored. His vision blurs as tears gather, and his jaw starts to hurt. With a rough growl and a violent buck of his hips, Jack slams Jesse against the wall, caging him, burying deep into Jesse’s throat as he reaches his peak.  

 

His eyes water as he struggles for breath, body twitching and hands frantically grasping for purchase, trying to push Jack back, yet Jack doesn’t yield. The thick tock unloads into the tight heat of his throat, and he can feel it pulsing and throbbing with each splurt. The hoarse moans escaping Jack’s lips and the sweet salty taste at the back of his palate are the endearments that Jack doesn’t say, and through the lack of oxygen, the suffocating haze, he surrenders.

 

Just as the corners of his vision begins to blacken, Jack pulls back, letting go of Jesse completely.  He coughs as fresh air burns his lungs, his ribs painful as they expand. “Ah-” the weak noise escapes his raw throat as he is yanked by his hair again, forced to look up as Jack stares down at him, looming over his vision, admiring his work.  His eyes are soft, a rare fondness gleaming in the haze of his afterglow. Pupils dilated, eyes watery; cheeks flushed red, lines of tears down his face; lips swollen and red, open and drooling. “You look fucking wrecked.” There is no bite in his voice, and Jesse soars with the praise.  He lets out a tiny whine.

 

Jack lets him go.  His cock is still at half mast as he zips up and readjusts himself.  His smile is a ray of sunshine. “Get yourself cleaned up, agent McCree.”

 

A flutter of blue cloak, and he’s gone.

 

For a moment Jesse is dazed, suddenly getting his space back.  The world realigns on its axis, and the thundering beat of his pulse brings him out of the haze. He steadies his breathing, takes stock of his surroundings. He groans as he palms himself through his pants.

  
He came untouched.

 

⧫

 

 


	2. Red

_They dance again._

⧫

“McCree.”

 

His thoughts come back to the present, and he looks up at the man sitting opposite him.  The red visor bears into him: a void, indifferent haze of red, the eyes behind them silently judgmental.  And he stares back, not pressing yet also unyielding.

 

He has always been like this in meetings, military and aggressively thrusting his authority in his face - as if proving he can and he will separate his personality with his professionalism.  McCree is also a professional at these times; with his experience in Blackwatch and unconventional infiltration and assault tactics, coupled with the instincts honed sharp by his vigilante years, his opinion has been immensely valuable and often life-saving, and if he sees a risk or problem in a strategy, he will voice it regardless of ranks.  It’s exactly what he did five minutes ago. It’s what he did with Reyes back in Blackwatch, it’s the only way he will do things, and Soldier fucking Seventy-Six is not going to change that, regardless of the amount of stern menacing looks he throws him.  It was a trivial thing, a small fact that doesn’t even warrant argument - but the Soldier has picked on it, set ablaze for no reason.   

 

If he wants a fight, he’ll fucking get one.

 

“I stick with what I said, Soldier.” Jesse stands his ground. McCree doesn’t sound cocky, but he is by no means polite. No point respecting someone who doesn’t even respect who he was.  

 

Tension fills the room as the two of them lock eyes, stare each other down.  The eyebrows crease to a frown above the mask, and for a second Jesse braces for a fight - but the blow never came. The man doesn’t take further on the issue, simply turns his head away from McCree. A quiet concession.

 

A collective sigh of relief breaks across the room.  Winston goes on with the briefing, confirming objectives and assigning posts, gesturing to the holovid in the centre. Jesse takes a long, hard look.  The mask betrays nothing.

 

Jesse leans back and tips down his hat, dropping the shadow of the brim over his face.  He doesn't open his eyes for the rest of the meeting.  

 

As they disband, Jesse leaves without a word. The jangling of his spurs ring in the hallway, a steady, easy pace that drifts aimlessly along with his thoughts. He reaches a secluded corner, and he lights the remainder of his last cigar. The smoke surrounds him like an old friend.

 

There has been no drumming of fingers, no fidgeting of impatience; no blond hair, no blue jacket. None of the Jack Morrison he remembers. Back straight, face forward, focused on the holovid.  Silent, reserved, where there should be temper.  The way he simply turned his gaze away, stepping down from a fight. Weariness? Wisdom? Disappointment? Jesse can’t tell. The frown was familiar, but in hindsight, perhaps it resembles more confusion than warning. Jesse can’t tell either. His gaze follows the tendrils of white as they drift away from him, There is a hollow in the man behind the visor, and an echoing hollow in Jesse’s chest.

 

He barely knows Jack anymore.

 

Soldier 76. If the number means something, he doesn’t know, couldn’t guess. It’s a fragment of a life he hasn’t seen. Ten years, ten years he thought he lost him, and then he shows up at his door, white hair, scarred face, red visor. What does he want? He doesn’t say, and Jesse doesn’t want to know. The cigar burning to its end. He closes his eyes as the scent leaves him, clearing way to fresh air. He sighs, a deep, tired exhale, and-

 

A fist grabs him by his hair.  On instinct, he sets his boot firm, lowering his gravity and spinning his momentum as he elbows back with his metal arm. His blow is blocked, and he lets out a cry of pain as his world spins on its axis, abruptly cut off as his left cheek collides with a wall, his hat falling off to the ground. He sees stars, and his ears ring.  Only two people he knows has that kind of strength, and one of them is dead.

 

He reaches for his flashbang.

 

A vicious grip on his wrist, and his hand is twisted against his back until a sharp pain shoots up his shoulder. The fist yanks on his hair and slams him back against the metal wall with a clang. He’s certain this will bruise. He grunts. The hand doesn’t yield.

 

“What the f-”

 

“Do you have a problem with me being here, agent Mcree?” The bitterness in Jack’s voice scorches him with a familiar pain. He winces, ignoring the wrench in his gut. He bites back.

 

“I don’t know, do _you_ have a problem with being here _?_ ” low and throaty, the spite in his voice surprises him.

 

Slam. Ouch. “Don’t pull that attitude with me!” Jack shouts into his ear, but there’s no temper. The hand tightens. Possessive, threatening, like fangs closing in. But the thumb pressing on his temple is gentle, almost a caress.

 

“Or _what!_ ” He kicks his leg back, the spur of his boot catching on flesh, drawing a muttered curse. Seizing the split-second when the grip on his head loosens, he braces against the wall and throws his weight back, crashing onto the man behind him.  Jack stumbles backwards with the tackle, but doesn't fall, and Jesse curses - remembers he’s fighting a super soldier. He spins and turns, left fist aiming for the ribs.  But Jack was ready for him - he grips Jesse’s arm, fast as lightning, pulling Jesse towards him with the momentum, and headbutts him squarely in the head.  Jesse recoils, and changes tactic - using their proximity and the way Jack’s body is leaning backwards, he trips his right foot behind Jack’s boot, and collides bodily against Jack. They stumble as Jack loses his balance, and Jesse drops his weight onto the body underneath him.  Jack lets out a pained grunt as they land, but even as the wind is knocked out of his lungs he catches Jesse’s throat with the crook of his arm. Jesse elbows his side, hard, but the arm only tightens.  He plants his feet and with a powerful buck of his hips, Jesse goes with the torque and rolls backwards, serape fluttering as he breaks Jack’s hold.  He scrambles to his feet, looking up just in time as sleek metal cylinder hovers his face and pops with a blinding flash.

 

Fuck. Bastard grabbed his flashbang.

 

Jack’s strength is overpowering, and this is a fight Jesse cannot win. Jack grabs him by the back of his neck and pins him against the wall just as Jesse recovers, struggling under his hold.  Jack presses flush against him, and they fit together like a jigsaw. He can feel the rise and fall of his chest, breathing in unsteady pants.  The hulking weight cages him, the intense warmth permeating through the layers, and Jack’s scent is suddenly there, surrounding him like a haze. Jesse freezes, his entire body tensing up into a taut string.

 

The deja-vu hits him like a punch.  

 

Blue eyes, cruel and fond. Tempest of a beast, scorch of his sun. He loved that man so much, he couldn’t say goodbye.

 

It dawns on him then: Jack isn’t playing.

 

“What do you want, _Seventy-Six_ ,” Jesse snarls. Wounded. Indignant. _How dare you._

 

Tension ripples in the air as they stand still, the confrontation morphing into something different. A misstep, and the glass will shatter. He can feel Jack’s heartbeat, steadier against the jagged rhythm of his own. Another moment passes. As if snapping back to himself, as if only just realizing what he’s done, Jack seizes up, then pulls away abruptly, acquiescing. Cool air rushes over him, and Jesse shivers.

 

“Sorry,” the man mutters.

 

He can’t make out the tone of that voice. Perhaps he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to know what he’s sorry for. Jesse turns, and Jack averts his gaze, dodging him. Jesse shouldn’t feel his chest tighten at the way Jack suddenly seems so small. He doesn’t have the right to be weak.

 

“Should’ve told me when I cried over your grave.”

 

Jack doesn't respond, just stays still with his visor hiding his face, but Jesse knows he hit hard. Jack’s fists are clenched, a slight tremble in his arms. The silence hangs heavy between them, and for a moment Jesse suspects that’s how it would end, like it always does these days. Wounds untouched, egos spared, Jack refusing to look at him.  When the man speaks, it is a whisper, almost inaudible behind the mask.

 

“You left first.”

 

So many words laden in three. A hundred accusations, a thousand questions. Jesse hears all of them, peels back all the layers, each hurting more than the last. He reacts to one.

 

“That all you gotta say to me then?” Jesse bristles, flaring up like a torch. “You want my fucking apology?”

 

He steps forward, voice raising, steadier with each clink of his spurs. “Well you’re not gonna get any, ‘cause I ain’t sorry that I left.” The words are a double-edged sword, and he nearly stops as Jack winces and takes a step back.  There’s that frown again, creasing lines beneath the white hair, and frustration clutches viciously at his heart. The indifference. The void. The distance. The denial. Jesse takes aim and fires. “Why can’t you look me in the eye huh? Take off the fucking mask, your coward.” He grabs the collar of the jacket, glaring down the mocking mask, seeing his own ugly reflection in the gleam of the red visor.  A hand wraps around his fists, pulling. “McCree-”

 

He shoves Jack backwards then, a loud clang against the metal wall. “Fuck off, Morrison.” He picks up his hat and turns to leave, before he can taste the regret on his tongue.

 

There’s a tug on his serape. He stops, but doesn't turn. “Let go.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Jack whispers, voice strained as if each syllable is a stab to his heart. The hand stays still.  Jesse swallows the lump in his throat. “Let me go.”

 

Silence. Then a faint click, and a hiss.

 

“ _Jesse._ ”

 

The same sandy gravel that haunts his dreams.

 

Jesse freezes, the voice piercing his heart like an arrow and he whirls around. His eyes follow the fists clutching the red cloth, up the outstretched arm, thick wide shoulders, to the face of Jack Morrison. Scarred. Flawed. Sorrow, remorse, raw with honesty.

 

For the first time in ten years, he sees the man he loves.

 

The ocean blue embraces him, the waves rock his world and surrounds him and drags him down in a whirlpool, and Jesse drowns. His ridges, his armor, his pride. He loses himself in sapphire eyes, the soul he knew so well, now old, broken. How can Jesse fight?

 

“I’m sorry,” Jack repeats as he falters, leaning on the wall for support and letting go of the serape. The mask drops from his other hand, a dull thud as it hits the floor. A dam breaks, and Jesse remembers the day he left. The last time he saw Jack’s smile. How he thought he would never see it again. He will fight. He will fight and win, win for both of them.

 

Their mouths collide.

 

It tastes as sweet as he remembers. The ambers kindle as they come together, the hollow in his chest expands. Jack is hesitant, rigid as Jesse presses against him, and a drop of pain blossoms in his chest. He growls and bites a swollen lip, and Jack _whimpers_ as he opens up to him, tongue warm and inviting. He kisses harder, dizzy as he claims Jack, aggressive and hungry, relishing the yield in Jack’s body, how it accepts him. The heat burns in his veins, scorches his heart, throbs in his pants.

 

He shrugs off the jacket and reaches for the belt, undoing it with a click before pulling the combat pants and boxer briefs down his thighs. Jack lets out a muffled breath, starts to squirm. He ignores him. Jack’s scent is still the same, sweat and musk and heady with something distinctly his, and he breathes in deep as he nuzzles against Jack’s neck.  His metal hand slithers under the hem of his shirt, lifting it up as the fingers trails the lines of Jack’s hard abs and up his flank, cupping his chest, kneading the firm muscle, feeling the heavy rise and fall of Jack’s chest presses into his palm. A horrid scar marks the middle of his left pec, and Jesse lays his palm over it, feeling the heart beating fast and thunderous under the skin. A hand grips his wrist, but his hand is firm, and Jack lets go. His flesh hand slides downwards, past Jack’s crotch and underneath to reach the cleft of his ass. Jack moans, breathy and lewd against Jesse’s ear. “Fuck me.” An arm circles around him and he lets himself be pulled down to the ground, lips locked in another kiss as he falls on top of him.

 

Jack is still soft. Jesse breaks the kiss and pushes himself up. Jack’s brows are furrowed, cheeks red, contorted with something Jesse suspects is grief. When the blue eyes look up at him they are teary, and Jesse lets out a pained breath.

 

There is a neediness in Jack’s touch, the way he unzips Jesse’s pants and pulls out his hard cock, throbbing with arousal; the way he spits into his hand and strokes him, encouraging, sultry, touching all the right places.  Yet there is also uncertainty in the way his hand hovers over Jesse’s left cheek, barely grazing the angry cut.  “Fuck me, Jesse,” he orders, low and hoarse, picking up a harshness in his tone.  Jack leans up for another kiss, but Jesse reels back.

 

“Jack-”

 

“Please, Jesse, fuck me, fuck me like-” Jack begs, wrapping his arms around Jesse’s neck and rolling upwards against his arousal. A lump forms in Jesse’s throat. “Jack stop, I-”

 

“Fuck me!” Jack shouts, desperate. Muscular legs wraps around Jesse’s hips, urging him closer. The fire sparks in his gut again, along with the churn of an anger. With a howl, Jesse enters him, barely lubed up with saliva. Jack falls silent abruptly, head smacking back to the ground as he arches his back, mouth wide, scream choking in his throat.  He grips Jesse’s serape like a lifeline. Jesse pushes, slow but firm, until he feels the curve of Jack’s ass press flush against his thighs.

 

Jesse gives him exactly ten heartbeats to adjust, and when he rolls his hips, the sound Jack makes is _so weak_  - a wave of vertigo courses through him, his heart swelling with fondness.  He draws back slightly before shoving in, hard. Jack lets out a sob - and Jesse moans. He grips Jack’s legs, hinging them on his shoulder for leverage, and pulls back out until only the head is hidden inside jack. He spits two times on Jack’s rim, and Jack lets out a gasp as Jack slams back into him. Rough and punishing, Jesse sets a selfish pace, quick pistoning of his hips that draws high-pitched whines from Jack as the walls clench down hard on Jesse, the friction harsh and heavenly.  A twisted glow of pride warms his blood as he sees Jack’s cock thicken and fill, and he changes the angle of his hips, relishing Jack’s wails and sobs until it jumps with every thrust, the swollen head glistening with slick, leaking onto his golden trail.

 

He stops when he notices Jack’s entire body is trembling. Back taut, abs tight.  Jack covers his eyes with his forearm, knuckles white, shoulders heaving. “Hey,” Jesse coos softly, pulling the arm away.  He leans down, and kisses away the moisture at the corner of Jack’s eye, and Jack breaks like fractured glass.  He lets out a shuddering sigh as he pulls Jesse close and holds him tight, sobbing into his shoulder, words caught in his throat as he fists the brown hair. “I’m sorry,” Jack whispers, incoherent, “Jesse, Jesse I’m sorry...I’m sorry I didn’t - I’m-

 

“ _Don’t leave me._ ”

 

One last plea, and Jesse’s heart shatters.

 

His eyes flutter close as the pain swelling in his chest threatens to overwhelm him. He pulls Jack up, letting him lean back against the wall as he sits in his lap. Jack just holds him, as if he would disappear any second. He fists his hand in Jack’s hair, snowy white and soft to the touch. He doesn’t speak, only answers with a deep kiss. Unspoken words and syllables buried in a decade of lost time. He melts in Jack’s warmth, his anchor, his sun, and the feeling seizes him - the heat of possessiveness pooling in his abdomen, the urge to mend, to ravish, to pour his life on the ashes of the burnt soul of his love.

 

He breaks the kiss, a string connecting their lips, staring straight into Jack’s eyes and losing himself in the glassy blue he finds there. He thrusts his hips, a steady rhythm of erotic sound as skin slaps against skin. He slams hard against Jack’s prostate, then a languid roll to rub his cockhead on the over-sensitive spot before pulling back out, a pause, then slamming back in again. Just as he knows, Jack falls apart. He groans, grazing a thumb on Jack’s cheek, relishing in the way Jack’s eyes flutter close and his back arches to meet his cock. Jack is biting his fist, but Jesse pulls it away and pins it to the wall. “Let me hear you.” Three thrusts has Jack screaming, biting on Jesse’s neck. By the tenth, Jack is boneless, panting and begging, an incoherent mess in his arms.

 

“That’s it, Jack” he drawls, honeyed and gentle, low and predatory. “Sing for me.”

 

The metal hand slides down Jack’s face, dragging on a swollen lip, tracing the handsome jaw, until it reaches cup the sensual dip at the bottom of Jack’s neck, palm resting against his collarbones.  Jack clenches around him suddenly, his body tensing, and Jesse pauses.  

 

Jack’s eyes widen, pupils dilated; cheeks flushed, mouth agape as a moan escapes. He stares at Jesse, a fear in his eyes - not a fear of what Jesse would do, but a fear that Jesse knows what he wants him to do. A fear, laden with lust.

 

Jesse doesn’t ask. He tightens his hand around the column of Jack’s neck, pinning him against the wall. Not enough to suffocate, but enough to make breathing an effort.  Jack lets out a whimper and the slick walls clamp down around Jesse’s cock, a heaven of melting warmth. His moans are choked, coming out in low husky wheezes; his eyes glassy with lust, and they roll back and flutter shut as Jesse finds that spot inside him again; hiscock is flushed an angry red, throbbing and pooling slick all over his abs, already on the edge without touching.  

 

Jesse’s pace quickens, growing frantic as he wrecks the man caged in his arms, his cock sliding out halfway before pushing back in, parting the delicious heat and hitting home, finding Jack’s spot every time until Jack is begging. His hands prises at Jesse’s hold, clawing at his fingers. “Please Jesse- please- let me cum make me cum-” coarse and strained, broken pleas that goes straight to Jesse’s cock. Jesse doesn’t relent.  Instead, he tightens his grasp, and with fear darting across his eyes Jack takes in a last gasp before his breathing is cut off.  “You’re mine.”

 

Jack’s cock twitches immediately, throbbing and jumping as Jesse fucks him senseless, abdomen slick with glistening precum. Jesse feels dizzy, drunk in the lust consuming them; Jack’s struggle a dark, beautiful thought that thickens his blood. Jack’s face is flushed red, eyes glassy as he stares at Jesse helplessly.

 

“Come for me.”

 

Jack seizes, eyes rolling back and body arching up, and he paints his chest with splatters of white, a choked roar vibrating against Jesse’s metal palm.  Jesse lets go of Jack’s throat before falling into the abyss after him, spilling and unloading inside Jack’s body, like Jack always liked.

 

They both gasp for breath, panting heavily, foreheads pressed together as the storm calms. A hand raises, timid and uncertain, until he reaches up to cup Jack’s cheek, tracing the angry lines.  Scars of battles he didn’t fight, of confrontations he didn’t face. Drag marks of a life washed away; fragments of a life he hasn’t seen.

 

No cloak, no marble statue; just a man with his flaws and a chipped smile.

 

“What happened to us, Jack,” he asks, breathless.   _What happened to you,_ he doesn’t ask.

 

There’s a tug on his serape as Jack pulls on the red cloth. He wraps it around them both, nestling his head on Jesse’s shoulder.

 

Whatever the cause of the wet smudge by Jack’s eye, Jesse wipes it away.

 

⧫

 

 


	3. Gold

_Epilogue_

⧫

 

_If he closes his eyes, he can imagine golden hair set against broad shoulders.  The eye-catching blue of his silhouette like a sharp arrow as it cuts through the sandy desert, crystal blue visor gleaming under the harsh sunlight, the sound of his pulse rifle a distinctive chirp across the roar of other gunfire.  The curve of his neck, slightly sunburnt cheeks. Steady gaze, defiant jaw, pale skin like a boyish betrayal.  His eyes are Jesse’s favourite shade of blue; it reminds him of the ocean, of waves and rain and depths and calm, an embrace he could lose himself in.  His voice is even huskier as he barks orders, shuffling his team around, keeping his men safe.  That same voice will call for Jesse’s name once, and Jesse would stay silent, just so he could see that handsome face turn around, shouting his name again with a rise of worry. He would see McCree smiling at him, and he would smile back. That smile always gets him like a piercing shot to his heart, killing him softly, melting him cruelly.  McCree. He likes how the commander say his name.  Like whiskey, he would later decide: deep and coarse, rough and scratchy, with the smoothest, sweetest aftertaste lingering on his heart._

  

⧫

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings for Jack, but I am not as familiar with this ship as I want to be, so these three chapters are a bit exploratory, and a bit different from what I've written before. They are also a bit rushed, despite how much time I've already put into it, so I apologize if they sound raw and the storytelling a bit jagged. 
> 
> Hands down and deep bows to Winter, for being the greatest beta, and for the immense help and patience.  
> Hugs and kisses to Evan and Dad, for guiding me back when I stray and kick me ass when I want to quit. I owe you a lot.  
> Also thanks to the Mc76 discord for organizing this week! 
> 
> There are quite a lot that did not get spelt out in this fic, comments are always welcome :)


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